


For Ferelden: Barkspawn and Co

by wafflerageface



Series: For the love of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adorable Alistair, Alistair (Dragon Age) Loves Cheese, Alistair Smut, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bad Puns, Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, King Alistair, Kinks, Light BDSM, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Postpartum Depression, References to Depression, Sexy Alistair (Dragon Age), Sexy Zevran, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Sweet Zevran Arainai, Violence, Warden Alistair, Zevran Arainai Backstory, Zevran Arainai Flirts, Zevran Arainai is a Good Friend, Zevran Pirate Roleplaying Kink, Zevran being Zevran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflerageface/pseuds/wafflerageface
Summary: The Blight has been unleashed upon Ferelden, the king and Grey Wardens are dead after being betrayed in the heat of battle. It's up to the last three remaining Wardens; a cheese-loving bastard prince, an excitable elven mage, and an exceptional Dalish hunter to gather allies and peace treaties across Ferelden, all while building together a band of misfits that become closer than family on their quest to wipe out the Blight. Will they manage to defeat the archdemon in time? And if so, what will be lost before it's all over with?





	1. The Cursed Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I've already got two ongoing, but Dragon Age kinda took over my life and I accidentally started writing fiction for it so yeah. Sorry not sorry. I'll do my best to keep my fics updated and hopefully this works better than last time. Likes and comments encourage me to keep going so feel free to leave one or even request something!

Shemlens. Maerwynn knew only the shems would be so loud, so clumsy and disruptive in the forests just on the edge of Ferelden’s territory. She couldn’t see any shems, but she could certainly sense them. Their carefully constructed paths had been trampled, the good game frightened away, and with her sensitive hearing, their stomping could be heard at least a mile off. When in the realm of a seasoned Dalish hunter, there was no escape. 

 

She was technically supposed to be assisting Master Varathorn today, but the art of woodcarving didn't suit her, she had always said as much, and when a more enthusiastic clan-mate had practically begged to study under Varathorn instead, she was all too happy to pass the job off to go hunting with Tamlen.  _ Tamlen.  _ An unbidden smile appeared as she followed his trail markers to their usual hunting spot. The mere thought of his name made her stomach flutter, and if she ventured further to that smile of his? Breathless. 

 

It was no secret among the clan that the two were practically joined at the hip since birth, and even a blind shem could see the bond they shared; a fondness that went beyond the boundaries of friendship. Merrill, Maerwynn’s closest friend and confidant, often teased Maerwynn and Tamlen, saying that if they continued spending so much time together, the rest of their clan-mates would assume they were mated and spoken for. Not that this ever bothered them. Let the others believe what they will, it wouldn’t stop them. 

 

Her heart lurched as she watched Tamlen duck behind some trees, bow drawn and aimed at his prey below. Watching the way he stepped around the shems, eyes focused, firm hands keeping his bow taut, Maerwynn’s mind came to a decision. Creators willing, she loved him, and she was finally going to tell him so. 

 

“Not another step,  _ shems _ .”  Tamlen’s voice cut through the air like a poisoned dagger, every syllable dripping with contempt. 

 

Maerwynn crept deftly towards the clearing and looked down. Tamlen had three shemlen males cornered, each one trembling worse than a fawn. She smiled in the thrill of the hunt and dropped down to Tamlen’s side, landing gracefully on her feet as she drew her bow. The odds were two on three now, but as these shems faced two of the finest archers their clan had to offer, the odds were clearly stacked against them. They had no chance of escaping with their lives. 

 

“I was waiting for you, lethalin.” Tamlen’s voice was light; a smirk playing at his lips. 

 

“Well I can’t let you have  _ all _ of the fun.” She responded with a smirk. “Now, why would shems dare wander so closely to our caravan?”

 

Her question dashed Tamlen’s playfulness as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Knowing shems, I suspect they’re here to spy on us and drive us away again.”

 

“We aren’t spies!” One of the men squeaked, his hands trembling violently. 

 

“Oh?” Tamlen inquired with no real warmth in his voice, nor any real curiosity. The shems weren’t to be trusted, a lesson learned the hard way. 

 

“Really!” A second man chimed, having found a way to stop his trembling. “We had no idea you Dalish were even here. We had found a elven ruin to explore, maybe find treasure of some kind, when this demon appeared out of nowhere!”

 

“So you’re more akin the thieves.” Maerwynn scoffed and glanced to Tamlen. “I don’t recall any ruins out here.”

 

“Neither do I.” His reply sounded doubtful. “I don’t think that- Hey! What is that?”

 

The trembling man from before stepped forward timidly, his hand outstretched and clutched around a fragment of stone. As Tamlen accepted the trinkent, his eyes widened, and a soft gasp parted his lips. 

 

“This… This is  _ Elvish. _ Proper  _ written elvish. _ ” Tamlen turned on the men, eyes shining and a light tone in his voice. “Where did you find this?” 

 

“We picked it up just inside the cave to the west of here.” The man looked to Maerwynn hopefully. “May we go now?

 

Rolling her eyes, Maerwynn lowered her bow and slung it over her shoulder, dropping her arrow in its quiver. “Begone, shems. Do not return until the Dalish have moved on.”

 

She didn’t need to warn them twice; the men had scrambled off together, tripping over their own feet and sometimes themselves in their haste as they ran away. The sight was amusing, especially when Maerwynn thought at least one of them had pissed themself, and the corners of her mouth turned up a little.  _ Only shems. _

 

Shems gone and the forest peaceful once more, Maerwynn turned her attention back towards Tamlen, expecting to see that mixture of awe, disbelief, and confusion still on his face. Instead, she was met with a wide and almost feral grin, the awe in his eyes had been replaced with excitement, the same kind of excitement she saw whenever they were out hunting and were closing in on their prey. That kind of look drove her crazy. 

“I think we should explore this cave of theirs, just to be safe.”

 

She laughed. “I agree, but perhaps we should return to the Keeper and take more hunters with us? They did say there was a demon inside.”

 

“And share our glory when we find some ancient relic from Arlathan’s days?” He shook his head and started off in the direction the shems had said to go. Having no choice, Maerwynn reluctantly followed him. 

 

The journey into the ruins was hell. Almost quite literally. There had been a few wolves in the forest, which were easily dispatched, but they had unfortunately been the easiest part. They had only just entered the cave when spiders descended upon them from their tunnels, pincers clicking loudly as they rushed the elves. The spiders were troublesome, but nothing a dozen well placed arrows and timely dagger strikes couldn’t handle. The battle itself was tiring, and they were left with aching arms, heaving chests, and sticky in blood. After pushing on a bit further, they happened upon half a dozen of walking corpses, the hallway filled with the smell of decaying flesh. Once these creatures had been dealt with as well, Maerwynn collapsed against a wall beside Tamlen. 

 

Tamlen tiredly looked her over, taking a moment to check for injuries before tending his own minor cuts and bruises. As he did, he tiredly asked, “Weren’t you assisting Master Varathorn today?”

 

Maerwynn felt heat rise in her cheeks and she looked down at legs as she wiped blood away. “I was, but I wanted to hunt with you. I prefer it that way.”

 

She was met with silence. A minute passed. Then two. Three. Then suddenly his fingers, warm and calloused, were tracing the soft, toned curves of her forearm before stopping at her wrist. Her breath caught a moment as she watched him rub his thumb over her own in slow circles before he entwined their fingers together. 

 

“I’m glad to hear you enjoy my company, Mae.” 

 

Hearing her nickname come from his lips, his voice soft and caring, made her heart flutter. Despite the warmth in her chest and cheeks, she couldn’t help the little bark of laughter that escaped, her chest shaking in effort to bite it back.

 

Tamlen smiled in amusement. “What?”

 

“You could have picked a more romantic spot.” Tamlen laughed, and her own increased with his.

 

“I’ll try harder next time.”

 

Smiling, they rose from their spot on the floor, legs stiff and cold, and approached the large doors before them. They gave each other a look, one that was soft and endearing; a promise of things to come when they returned to camp, and shared one short, tender kiss. As they parted, they unsheathed their bows and entered the final chamber as they should:  _ together. _

 


	2. The Harrowing

_ Maybe they are right about you. Simple killing is a warrior’s job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust...pride. Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end. _

Elonwye woke with a start; a scream caught in her throat as she lurched forward in bed. Looking around, she realised that she was no longer in the Harrowing Chamber, but in her own bed resting safely in the shared quarters belonging to the apprentice mages of Ferelden’s Circle of Magi. Before she had much more of a chance to realise she was very much alive and well, a pair of arms wrapped carefully, albeit firmly, around her shoulders and embraced her. 

“You’re awake! Thank the Maker!” Cried a trembling voice. 

It took only a moment for the elven mage to realise the trembling voice belonged to none other than Jowan, her best friend since she had left the Alienage to train in the Circle. His robes, the same dark blue and purple ones he had been wearing the previous day, were all kinds of wrinkled from how he had been sleeping in his chair beside her bed. As it dawned on her that he had potentially slept at her side the entire night, she smiled softly, and returned his hug with a soft squeeze to prove he needn’t treat her as if she might break. 

“I’m awake, Jowan, I’m alright.” She laughed a little. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Jowan sat back, his cheeks flushed a soft pink, and puffed his chest out a little in defence. “Of course I did. Greagoir and Irving didn’t bring you in until later yesterday evening, and by then you looked half dead!”

Tucking a lock of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, she laugh more. “That’s a bit creepy, Jowan… I can’t imagine I was very entertaining, but thank you.” 

“Well someone had to make sure you didn't die in your sleep.” He sighed. “So?”

“So?” Elownye inquired, head tilted, steel grey eyes fixed on him curiously. 

He rolled his eyes, scooted forward, and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper so as not to alert the other apprentices. “Your Harrowing! What was it like?”

“Jowan, you know I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“You won’t tell me? Not even tips?”

Elonwye was going to say no, as was expected of her. As wonderful a friend as Jowan was, she was forbidden from sharing the secrets of the Harrowing with any of her fellow apprentice mages. Not only could she get in a great deal of trouble, telling would rob the Harrowing of its true purpose; testing mages against unknown enemies to prove their skill and capabilities to the Templars. Rules aside, telling would also mean disappointing First Enchanter Irving, something she was loathe to do a he had become like a second father to her after she joined the Circle.  As she opened her mouth to respond, to say no and offer Jowan her sympathies, maybe suggest to read books on the matter, she had the misfortune to glance at him, the look on his face giving her pause. It was the look of a kicked puppy: bottom lip jutted out in a pout and eyes moist and glistening with tears that threatened to spill over.

She sighed in defeat. “Arse.”

For a moment, she thought through the events of her Harrowing, of the demons and spirits she had encountered, and thoroughly assessed what could and could not be shared. When Mouse’s advice came to mind, when she thought of Sloth’s riddles, of Rage’s betrayal, she smiled, and answered thusly:

“There are demons, demons that aren’t really demons, and things that did not look like demons that were. Trust nothing but the fact that you’re going to be deceived.” 

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but could you be more specific..?”

“Not really… I’m doing more than I’m supposed to as it is. Besides,” She gave him an encouraging smile and rested her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do fine in your Harrowing.”

Jowan frowned. “Assuming they ever give me one.”

“They give it to you when you’re ready, right? Perhaps Irving is simply still working the details out for yours.”

“Maybe…” Jowan sighed heavily and stood. “Speaking of Irving, he wanted to see you after you awoke”

Nodding, Elonwye stood and smoothed out her robes as best she could before combing through her hair with her fingers. Once she was satisfied she no longer looked like the living dead, she bade Jowan farewell and left the initiates dorm. As she walked the halls, greeting fellow mages as they passed, she saw a certain someone she had quite hoped to see: Cullen Rutherford. 

Cullen had joined the Circle Templars two weeks ago as little more than a wet-behind-the-ears recruit. He was just barely nineteen who, despite his profession and the numerous lectures he received from his superior, was rather kind and pleasant to the Circle mages, but even more so to Elonwye. All of her classmates teased and said he fancied her, which Elonwye thought was quite ridiculous until she had a few conversations with the man where he did nothing but blush and stutter the entire time, and that was when they were exchanging day-to-day civilities. If she ever dared to discuss anything more intimate with him? Well, even people on the second floor of the tower would be able to hear him sprinting down the halls to escape.

Seeing him in the hall now, shoulders back and spine painfully straight as he stood at attention, she smirke, and decided a small detour before Irving’s office would be fine. She sauntered over to him, delighting when he took notice and shyly averted his gaze, cheeks all flushed, and smiled at him innocently. 

“Hello, Cullen!” She chimed in the happiest tone she could manage.

His cheeks flushed more. “Hello, Miss Surana… I see you’re feeling better.”

“Please, Elonwye will suffice. After a bit of rest, yes, much better. I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

“N-Not at all. First Enchanter Irving said you would be fine.”

Elonwye smirked for a moment.  _ Barely into a conversation and I already have him stuttering. _

“Well, yes, but there are exceptions to every rule… You never know.” She frowned a little as a thought occurred to her. “Now that I think about it, had I failed, you were there to cut me down… Would you have really done it?”

It was a Templar’s job, their duty to the Chantry and the Maker, to execute mages who could not control their magic, and the ones who failed their Harrowing, but Cullen was different. For a man, one who clearly and openly cared deeply about the mages in his charge, to cut down a mage he was friends with, one he even fancied? That was unspeakably cruel; Elonwye would even go as far as calling it heartless even. 

Cullen frowned. “I would not have enjoyed it...but I still serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded.”

Elownye frowned more as the warmth in his voice dried out, exchanged for a monotone mantra that sounded incredibly rehearsed that it was near impossible to believe his words, even if they were his vows as a Templar and ones he had pledged himself to. Instinctively, she reached out for his hand and, though he probably could not feel it, give it a small squeeze. 

“I’m sorry they asked that of you…”

The sudden change in his demeanour was apparently almost immediately. His body tensed, cheeks blushed a bright pink, and eyes as wide as saucers. For a moment, Elownye could swear that his heart had stopped and that steam had began to spout out of his ears. She giggled, and while Cullen regained his composer, she clasped her hands together with a soft sigh, subtly lifting her breasts for him.

“I shouldn’t distract you from your duties.”

Cullen glanced down at her, blushed, and quickly averted his gaze again. “You’re a good friend, Elonwye. A welcome sight anytime.”

“Only a friend? Perhaps I should redouble my efforts to become something more to you.”

“S-Something more?” Cullen, bless his heart, was not quite understanding yet. 

She smirked. “Perhaps we could go somewhere more  _ private _ ?”

That time she knew Cullen understood her meaning. His face was flushed a deep red and his breathing had hitched, halting entirely for a minute or two. Elonwye knew what was coming next; her flirtations had always earned the same results. This time, however, she was determined for something,  _ anything _ , to be different, even if the difference was small. In one fluid moment, moving fast enough to catch Cullen before he had a chance to run off, she grabbed his wrist, pulled him in close, and stood on the tips of her toes to firmly plant a kiss on his cheek. Cullen’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment, feet glued in place. Elownye feared for a moment that she had taken things to far and that he was going to faint, but just as soon as she thought it, Cullen had pulled away and ran clumsily down the halls. 

Laughing to herself, she continued on to Irving’s study, and was surprised to find two other men already there, having what she would call a somewhat heated discussion with him. One of the men was easily recognisable. Not by his Templar armour, as most would assume, but by his silvery hair, neatly combed back, and his stern voice as he argued with Irving, a seemingly favourite pastime of Greagoir’s. As for the other man, he was a complete stranger in Elonwye’s eyes. She had never seen him in the Circle tower before, and they rarely had visitors, but even so, Greagoir spoke to him as he did to Irving, or any friend for that matter; loudly and tiredly. 

Before she had a chance to eavesdrop, Irving her noticed her presence in the doorway, and raised a hand to shush his companions. Without saying a word, he beckoned her in, and introduced her to Duncan of the Grey Wardens. 

  
  
  



	3. A Change of Scenery

Elonwye took deep, concentrated breaths as she focused on one thing: not panicking while staring down an angry group of Templars whilst Irving watched from over Greagoir’s shoulder.

Her talk with Irving had gone rather well, all things considered, and she even had time to engage the Warden Duncan in conversation while escorting him to his quarters per Irving’s request. However, it was the events afterwards that found her in her current situation. The moment Duncan left her side, Jowan has been there to replace him, eyes wide and breath stuttering nervously as he requested to discuss something privately with her.

Apparently Jowan had involved himself with a Chantry initiate named Lily; a relationship that was forbidden due to her vows of chastity. As an initiate, Lily did little more than simple chores such as acting maid for the Templars, and it was while cleaning Greagoir’s chambers that she discovered an order to perform the Rite of Tranquility on Jowan. Fearful of a future where he would never feel love for Lily again, Jowan all but begged Elonwye for help, and she agreed all too easily. Before she knew it, they were in the Phylactery Chamber-with a little help from Irving-smashing Jowan’s phylactery to prevent the Templars from tracking him down. They had thought themselves in the clear until they exited the Chamber and found Greagoir waiting for them with a host of Templars at his side.

“It seems you were right, Irving.” Greagoir’s expression was somehow grimmer than usual. “An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed in you, Lily.”

Lily shrunk back as Greagoir approached, whimpering a barely heard plea for mercy as Jowan stepped between her and the Knight-Commander.

“She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then.” Greagoir remarked with a disappointed sigh and looked at Irving, eyes narrowed as if it were his fault.

“You were right, Irving. The initiate betrayed us, the Chantry will not allow this to go unpunished. And this one,” He jabbed a finger towards Elonwye. “Barely a mage and already flouting the Circle’s rules.”

“Under my instruction, Greagoir. Elonwye came to me beforehand.” Irving chimed in as an attempt to keep her out of trouble. Elonwye looked at Irving betrayed; he had tipped Greagoir off.

Jowan turned on Elonwye, pain and betrayal written across his face. “You… You told him? How could you, Elonwye?”

She attempted to explain, to tell him about needing a form signed to acquire the fire rod and how Irving had guilted her into confessing, that he already knew she was hiding something the moment she walked in with the form, but her words never came, and she floundered uselessly as incoherent mumbles escaped her.

“Just stop.” Jowan cut her fumbling short. “You’re as bad as Irving. You don’t care about the Mages’ plight, only about appeasing our Templar masters.”

“Enough!” Greagoir shouted. “As Knight-Commander of the Templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death,” He pointed then to Lily, “And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

The effect of Greagoir’s words fell over the room instantly in a tense haze. Two Templars squared their shoulders as they approached Lily. Elonwye pitied the girl as she watched her trembling form back quickly away from the advancing Templars, a small whimpered plea breaking from her lips. Glancing over, she felt some satisfaction that Irving at least _looked_ regretful over Lily’s fate. She watched helplessly as the Templars reaches out to arrest Lily, her begs ignored. Closing her eyes, Elonwye waited for the woman to break, for the inevitable shriek of horror and soul-wrenching sobs, and then-

“I won’t let you touch her!”

Jowan rushed forward, shoving himself between the Templars and Lily. From an unseen pocket in his robes, he drew out a dagger and slit his hand open. The moment he did, his magic spiked suddenly in a red aura that surrounded him like fog. A wave of his hand and a powerful surge of magic shot forth from his fingertips, throwing everyone in front of him several feet back and into the ground. As Elonwye felt her consciousness slip, she thought she heard Lily’s voice whimper out, “By the Maker… Blood magic!”

When Elonwye came to, Jowan was long gone, Lily had been arrested, and Greagoir was arguing with Irving again.

“If you had let me act sooner, none of this would have happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!”

As Elonwye stood, she glared at Greagoir. “A blood mage wasn’t threatening anyone until _someone_ backed him into a corner and told him it was time to die! There’s certainly nothing better for capturing a blood mage than that! One man he already didn’t trust, was that your plan? Because it was a bloody brilliant one at that!”

“I would not press your luck, mage. We would not be in this mess if you had not aided him.”

“He’s clever and would have found something.” Elonwye retorted. “You’re loyal to your men, don’t condemn me for being loyal to mine. As for the blood magic, I don’t suspect people on arbitrary grounds, so it was a shock to me, but you do what helps you sleep at night. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful about what you leave lying around.”

Before Greagoir and Elonwye could argue further and make the situation worse, Irving stepped in and took her arm, pulling her quickly away from the Knight-Commander. Offering only a hasty apology, he pulled her to his side and leaned in, his worried whisper barely audible as Greagoir began shouting orders to his Templars.

“Please, Elonwye… Do not get into more trouble.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_ She hissed back, her anger fading a moment only for Irving’s sake. “Am I supposed to trust it to you, or should I expect it to be given to Greagoir again?”

Irving gave her a pained look. “We shall discuss this later-“

“Or not at all.” Greagoir turned his attention back on them. “What to do with this mage?”

“Knight-Commander, if I may…”

All heads turned quickly to see who the newcomer was, surprised to find Duncan of the Grey Wardens stepping in to defend a mage. Curiously, Elonwye watched as Duncan approached Greagoir full of confidence; a small smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m not only looking for mages to join the King’s army. I am also seeking recruits for the Grey Wardens.” He raises a hand, silencing an argument before it could escape Greagoir’s mouth. “Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens.”

“She is a danger to us all!” Greagoir yelled, how face turning so red that Elonwye was sure the vein in his forehead might actually pop this time.

Duncan only smiled. “It is a rare person who risks all for the sake of a friend. I stand by my decision to recruit Elonwye.”

“No! I refuse to let this go unpunished!”

Elonwye cleared her throat. “As fun as that sounds, Greagoir, I believe I accept Duncan’s offer.”

“Greagoir, mages are needed. _This_ mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages, and you know that.” He rested his hand firmly on Elownye’s shoulder. “I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.”

Greagoir attempted to argue his case more and prevent Elonwye from leaving the tower, but a few firm, albeit tired, words from Irving quickly shut him up. Crossing his arms, Greagoir stepped back looking much like a child pouting because he couldn’t get his way.

Irving stepped forward and hugged Elonwye tightly. “Goodbye, my daughter… You will always have a home here.”

Irving’s soft spoken words caused tears to form in her eyes, but for his sake, she held them back. “I promise I’ll come back one day… I love you, papa.”

As Irving whispered an “I love you” back, Elonwye pulled away and straightened her robes, forcing a smile as she looked over to Greagoir. “If you’re still bent on punishing me, my favourite pillow is still on my bed. Pretend it’s me and have at it.”

Greagoir scoffed. “Do try to not ruin anything else out there.”

Laughing softly at his poor attempt to wish her luck, Elonwye turned to Duncan and followed him out of the tower. It was the first time she had stepped outside since she was brought to the tower as a young girl, and she wept as though she were seeing the outside world for the first time.


	4. Army At Ostagar

Elonwye sighed heavily as she looked around the campgrounds at Ostagar, completely lost and confused. 

The trip to Ostagar had been, for the most part, uneventful. There was the occasional wolf or bandit party, but the encounters were far and few between, and Elonwye had been blissfully left alone to explore Ferelden’s wilderness as she pleased. Or perhaps it was she forgot to listen to Duncan and wandered off without his knowledge or consent… Still, the trip had been a pleasant one. Even their arrival was met with good fortune as King Cailan had personally greeted them at the gates. Neither of them had expected it, but after talking with Cailan, Elownye determined that it was something he probably did often to escape the “boring battle strategies” the Teryn subjected him to. Duncan had explained the darkspawn situation rather well; that the battles of late had been going well, that no one believed it to be a Blight, and that the Grey Wardens knew without a doubt that it was a Blight. How they knew, Duncan wouldn't say. It was a Grey Warden matter only, and that she would better understand after the Joining. 

Coming back to the present issue, Duncan had sent her off to find Grey Wardens Maerwynn and Alistair so that the Joining ritual could begin. However, he failed to mention what exactly they looked like, or where she was meant to begin searching for them. Finding a Grey Warden, no, a renowned soldier, was like finding a needle in a pile of needles. What was she to do? Ask everyone she met if they knew her two specific wardens? Oh yes, that will go over well. 

“Come now, Daveth. Surely there are other women you would rather spend time on?”

“And give up such a finely built beauty? Perish the thought, my lady!”

Elonwye looked over towards the quartermaster’s tent curiously.  _ Someone is getting laid tonight. _

The current someone was a man very clearly hitting on an elven woman. A Dalish to be more precise. Despite her complaints, the woman seemed very interested, and it was no wonder this Daveth had taken to hitting on her. The armour of the Dalish, while thick and durable, showed off the wearer’s stomach, and the skirt itself only came to her mid thigh. Any man would drool over a woman wearing it. 

The elf smirked. “Perhaps if you complete your test today, Daveth, I’ll give it some consideration. As a warden, I have standards.”

A loud snort came from Daveth. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Elonwye watched as the woman flushed softly and nervously tucked a stray lock of honey-coloured hair behind her ears. If this was a Grey Warden, surely she would know where Maerwynn and Alistair were. 

“Alright, go on,  _ shem. _ ” She joked, having noticed Elonwye approach them. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“Whatever you say, Mae.” Daveth rolled his eyes and walked off, seemingly happy as a lark. 

Mae turned to her now and smiled apologetically. “I apologise for him. Honestly, can’t take him anywhere without him propositioning to at least four women.” She smiled a little more brightly now. “Is there something I can assist you with? The rest of your Circle mages are over there.” She gestured then to a group of mages who were meditating in the Fade, a host of Templars guarding them. 

“It’s fine, really.” Elonwye glanced over at the Templars and made a face. “And thank you, but no. I was asked by Duncan to find two wardens by the names of Maerwynn and Alistair. I don’t suppose you know who they are?”

“I am Maerwynn, and I suppose that makes you Duncan’s new recruit?”

“Elonwye. A pleasure to meet you.” She smiled brightly, hand extended. 

“Likewise, Elonwye.” Maerwynn paused a moment before awkwardly shaking her hand. “I wasn’t expecting a mage recruit, and certainly not another elf. I hear they are rare among the Warden ranks.”

“Elves, mages, or both?”

“Elves, mages, and women. According to Alistair anyway.” Maerwynn shook her head and grinned. “And I thought  _ I _ was being oppressed.”

Elonwye laughed loudly. “Well, you know, one oppression just wasn’t enough for me. I thought I’d be ambitious. Go big, right?”

“Ooh, I like you.”

Elonwye laughed again and mockingly bowed a little. “I’m sure Dalish Warden still raises some eyebrows though.”

“Considering our rarity, yes, a bit.” She wrinkled her nose. “However, here I find that several people mistake me for one of their servants.”

“Oh lovely.”

Maerwynn nodded. “Damn shems can’t seem to accept that elves can be Wardens too, but no matter. You’re looking for Alistair as well?”

“I was asked to find both, yes.” 

“Good. The poor bastard got sent on an errand for the Revered Mother and needs saving. Follow me.” 

WIthout so much as another word, Maerynn walked off with more speed than expected, leaving poor Elonwye needing to jog in order to catch up to her. Alistair wasn’t actually far from where Maerwynn was, but he was a little harder to see since he was standing in the old ruins talking to another mage. From their tones, it wasn’t a very pleasant talk.

“And here I thought we were getting along. I was even going to name one of my children after you: the grumpy one.”

Elonwye bit back laughter at Alistair’s snark.That was honestly the greatest thing she had heard in a while, and it came from such a pretty package as well. Smiling, she watched the disgruntled mage walk off in defeat before Alistair approached them.

He turned to Maerwynn with a sigh. “One good thing about the darkspawn is how it brings people together. It’s like a party. We could all stand in a circle holding hands.” 

Maerwynn laughed a little. “That would certainly give the darkspawn something to think about.”

“Standing in a circle holding hands? Will we be dancing around a campfire?” Elonwye asked as she quirked her brow. 

Alistair grinned widely at her, his eyes shining as though someone had just set a large plate of cheese in front of him. “I don’t know, but it sounds fun. Is that a Dalish tradition?”

“Should I know?”

“She’s not Dalish, Alistair.” Maerwynn quipped as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not every elf is Dalish you know.” 

“Oh… Sorry.” Alistair gave them both a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I should have realised when you didn't start calling me shem like Mae does.” 

“Be nice,  _ shem _ . She’s the new recruit, and Duncan is expecting us.” 

“I  _ am _ being nice!”

Elonwye smiled in amusement as she watched Alistair and Maerwynn bicker. Even though they argued, it was all playful jesting, and they still kept their smiles. Well, Maerwynn did. Alistair stopped smiling when she threatened to ensure there wasn’t any available cheese during dinner. The only man she had ever seen pout before was Jowan for various reasons, but Alistair easily put her friend to shame with his pouting. His puppy eyes and quivering lip was enough to do anyone in. 

“Alright, alright! Stop making that face, I’ll leave your damn cheese alone.” Maerwynn conceded as she quickly looked away. Even the hardened Dalish hunter was no match for Alistair’s pouts. 

Elonwye stepped forward, barely holding in her laughter as she said, “I hate to interrupt, but Duncan is waiting for us.”

Alistair’s pout fell away and he nodded. “Yeah, fair point. We really shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.”

“Well it’s your fault that we did, but that aside, we really should meet up with him. He’s likely to hunt us down if we don’t, and I’m not eager to see that happen again.” 

As Alistair and Maerwynn began to hastily walk off, Elonwye had only one question as she jogged after them: “What do you mean  _ again _ ??”


End file.
